Macy's Fault
by limetta
Summary: JONAS. Kevin/Macy. Kevin was a normal teenage boy with raging hormones. It was Macy's fault, really.


**Disclaimer: Of course, I don't own JONAS. **

**Warning: Some language. Some sexual references. **

**I just decided to start typing, and this came out. :3 I like it. It's short though. Oh, and dedicated to FabledDiamond, for motivating me to actually write something. I hope she hasn't gone to bed yet.**

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Kevin decided that it wasn't his fault. After all, he was a teenage boy, right? And teenage boys had hormones, right? Right.

So it was not his fault that every time Macy Misa walked around the corner, his pants felt rather tight. And his cheeks got a tad flushed. And his brain forced a stupid, goofy smile on his face.

If anything, he concluded, it was _her_ fault. She pranced around in tennis skirts and basketball shorts and those skin-tight gymnastic uniforms and expected it to do nothing to him? Pshaw.

Maybe if she dressed more like the _other_ girls in their boring school uniforms and their T-shirts and skinny jeans and Ugg boots, he wouldn't be so tempted to ravage her every time she bounded down the hallway to her next class.

Maybe if she would just shower after morning swim practice and not spend first period with her hair wet and sticking to the back of her neck, and drops of pool water rolling down her legs and the scent of chlorine surrounding her, he wouldn't feel the need to dry every drop of water off of her body. With his tongue.

Maybe if she was a bit more modest about where she changed her clothes, instead of tearing of her football jersey while pulling on her lacrosse shirt right in the middle of the god-damn hallway, (not that he didn't enjoy the view) he wouldn't feel so compelled to slam her against her locker and show her just how easy it was for _him_ to take off his shirt that fast too.

Maybe if she would spend hours primping in front of the mirror every morning like Stella or Tiffany or Maria, he wouldn't be attracted to the smell of her shampoo (not hairspray) and sweat, and the cinnamon-apples from the apple turnovers her mother made every morning and maybe just _maybe_ he could stop inhaling every time she whipped around to apologize to Joe for dropping her badminton racket on him.

Maybe if she _checked the locker room_ before stepping outside the showers in nothing but a fucking _towel_ with water dripping off her body, and her face light pink with embarrassment and her dainty little hands clutching the towel just loose enough that if he were to lean over a fraction of an inch, he would be able to see a rather ample amount of cleavage, he could stop 'losing his shower cap' and leave the co-ed showers earlier.

But _no._ Little Macy Misa had to roam the halls of Horace Mantis in all of her doe-eyed, pouty-lipped glory, flashing those brilliant smiles at Kevin every time she saw him and blushing prettily every time he smiled back at her and it's completely unreasonable because even Kevin Lucas has his limits.

It was totally unfair to expect him to be a gentleman in front of her when she looked all worried and flustered and apologetic when she smacked him with a hockey stick, and he _certainly _could not be expected to keep his hands to himself when she bent over to pick it up right in front of him. (He blames his imagination for that one.)

But then again, life has always been unfair to him when it came to Macy Misa. Like the fact that she was perhaps the most oblivious person in the world next to Joseph. And she just happens to be off-limits because Nick said you can't mix friends with girlfriends and Stella had threatened to send him on stage in overalls if he hurt her. (But that would be impossible, for him) And no matter how hard he tries, there is no possible way for him to ever stop thinking of her.

And she had no idea how much he hates that purity ring on his right hand when he watches her out on the field. Or in the pool. Or driving home. Or talking to Stella. Or how much he hates his reputation as the 'nice one' when she's in her school uniform, because no one can be that kinky and that nice at the same time.

And she doesn't know that every time she faints in front of him, he wishes she was sleeping beauty and he could be her prince charming and he could kiss her and take her away on his white horse.

She didn't know that.

Or how much he loves and hates the look on her face when she's sad, or mad, or disappointed and her eyes water and her lips tremble and her knees quiver, because she's so fucking innocent and it's because of that that she has every reason to fear for her virtue.

But maybe it's not her fault after all. Maybe she really _doesn't_ know what she does to him every single hour of every single day, even on the days they don't see each other. (Because she's the reason he's had to sneak into the basement and do his laundry at 2 in the morning, and the reason he wasn't able to look his mom in the face for weeks after she found sticky stuff on the bed sheets.)

Maybe she really _can't_ help just how utterly adorable and endearing and _perfect_ she is.

Maybe Stella just needs to loosen his pants.


End file.
